Page 1 of The Duke of Desire
Chapter One
Wendover, England, August, 1816
Asilence settled over the large drawing room, like a storm cloud moving in and stealing all the light from the air. Conversations halted, and there was a palpable feeling of expectation.
Ivy Breckenridge looked up from the book she was reading and instantly found the source of the disturbance.
He stood just over the threshold, talking with Lord Wendover, the host of the house party. Tall, with eyes as dark as sin and hair that was even blacker, he looked like some sort of hero of old—all he needed was a sword in his hand and mail across his wide chest.
“My goodness, is that the Duke of Desire?” one of a pair of women, seated a few feet away from Ivy on a settee, asked breathlessly.
Such a dreadful nickname, and Ivy had only herself to blame for it. Herself and her best friends, that is.
Thinking of Aquilla and Lucy, she felt a burst of sadness. They were married now. Shackled into that estate that Ivy would never, ever agree to. They’d insisted their friendship wouldn’t falter, but it had already changed. Yes, they still wrote to each other—nearlyas much as before—but the tone was different. And how could it not be? They were not only married, they were blissfully happy.
Ivy wouldn’t—she couldn’t—begrudge them that. Even if she’d never understand the allure to which they’d succumbed.
“I wonder who he’s here with,” the other woman asked softly, but loud enough for Ivy to hear. They were around Ivy’s age, but they were respectable married women, while Ivy was merely a lady’s companion. Hence, her position on the periphery. She glanced toward Lady Dunn, her employer, who sat nearby with her friend Mrs. Marsh.
Ivy let her gaze travel back to the doorway. The duke seemed utterly oblivious to the stir his arrival had created.
Lord Wendover looked around the room. “The Duke of Clare has arrived. And now our house party is complete. Lady Wendover and I are looking forward to the next fortnight and all the exciting events we have planned, starting with tonight’s formal dinner.”
There was a light round of applause, and the earl bowed before returning to his conversation with Clare.
The pair of women on the settee in front of Ivy leaned their heads together and spoke quietly, but Ivy was still able to hear them. “Did you hear the latest about Clare?” the blonde woman asked. She had a small nose that twitched periodically, which reminded Ivy of a rabbit.
“I think so, but it seems there’s always something,” the dark-haired woman responded. “Is this about his latest affair?”
“No, the rumor that he fathered Goodwin’s younger son,” said the rabbit. “That boy has hair the color of midnight.”
The other woman sucked in a breath. “And Lord and Lady Goodwin are both fair-haired. I hadnotheard that.”
The rabbit blinked at her. “It was in the paper a few weeks ago. How did you miss that?” Her voice climbed a bit.
The woman exhaled. “I’m afraid Mr. Pippin doesn’t appreciate my reading the scandal pages so he tries to hide them from me. Sometimes he is, unfortunately, successful.”
“That is unfortunate,” the rabbit murmured so that Ivy had to strain to hear.
Ugh! She didn’t want to listen to them at all. Snapping her book closed, she stood and walked along the windows. The day was cloudy and cool. At least it wasn’t raining. Such a dismal summer they were having—it had even snowed in June.
Ivy reached the opposite end of the room and pivoted for the return. Lady Dunn ought to be ready for her afternoon respite soon. Then Ivy could investigate the library she’d seen on their tour after they’d arrived yesterday. Her anticipation occupied her mind so deeply that she failed to notice the large male body until she nearly ran into it.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, lifting her chin to see whom she’d nearly collided with.
Of course it washim.
His fingertips brushed against her arm. “I didn’t mean to block your path.”
Ivy jerked back, putting distance between them. But not before she caught a nose full of his scent—sandalwood and pine. He smelled divine. Damn him.
“It’s quite all right.” She forced a brittle smile and made to step around him.
He pivoted with her. “Have we met?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“But of course you know who I am.” His deep voice held a warm tone of mirth. “Everyone does, I’m afraid.”
